


The Day Before The End

by crescentlunae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First War with Voldemort, Gen, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, but he's important to the story so, he gets a tag, really it's only mentions of sirius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 23:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12023511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crescentlunae/pseuds/crescentlunae
Summary: The day before Regulus Black dies in order to give the world the chance of being saved.Here is a scared boy of eighteen years who is struggling with the idea that he is about to willingly go to his death.





	The Day Before The End

**Author's Note:**

> i've had the idea to write this for months now and i finally got the inspiration to sit down and write it all out
> 
> the whole time i was writing this i was listening to this song on repeat: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aq7TNv7Pbm8 (Tchaikovsky - The Seasons: October ("Autumn Song") - Vladimir Tropp)
> 
> maybe this will help you get the feel of the story if you care to listen to it and read the story at the same time

Regulus bolted upright in a cold sweat, eyes wide, and his chest heaving in staggered breaths. The burning liquid rushing down his throat was quickly replaced by the familiar darkness of his room as moonlight poured through the window.

The nightmares had only worsened with every passing day.

Laying back down into his pillow, he tried to urge sleep to come back to him, but after a useless fit of tossing and turning, he threw back the sheets and accepted his fate. The floorboards creaked and groaned underneath his feet as if they were protesting being awoken as such a loathsome hour. He pulled out the chair to his desk and sat in it, lowering his head and folding his hands together against the back of his neck.

He took in a deep, slow breath and exhaled before rubbing away the exhaustion cemented onto his face. The cold rings he had charmed with the ability to calm him down and sooth tensions that lay scattered across his trembling fingers did nothing to ease him tonight.

Knowing that sleep would not come easy, Regulus put on his slippers and robe and left his bedroom. Letting his door close with a soft click, he released the cool ornate doorknob and faced the empty bedroom of his former brother— at least, that is what the burned tapestry in the drawing room showed.

He wondered what had become of Sirius. Was he happy in his new life? Did he find some peace when he left? Did he ever look back at mother or father or 12 Grimmauld Place or even at Regulus? Regulus had not seen the inside of his bedroom for some time now, but he knew it remained very much unchanged. He could still hear Kreacher’s mumbling and struggle to take off the various muggle posters and pictures Sirius had charmed to stick onto the walls. Neither mother nor father could take down the portraits no matter how hard they tried to take them down. And when Regulus attempted to charm them off, they did not even budge. Then again, it was not as if Regulus had tried very hard in the first place. Sirius may have been banished from the Black family, but Regulus never forgot his big brother.

Memories of sun soaked days playing on broomsticks, and later on Quiddich, occupied his memories. Laughter and youth colored their skies from patching each other up when one knocked the other off of their broom to inventing games to play across the long family dinner table during the aching silence of mealtimes. The days before they understood what it meant to be anything except children, before the colors of their rooms became acts of rebellion, before houses tore them apart, before growing up faster than children ought to became necessary to survive could never be forgotten. Not for Regulus. All of these moments raced across his mind until the world returned to its deepened color of night, and he continued on through the memory-soaked house.

He let his hand rest on the black wood of the bannister as he walked down the creaky steps. He noted the portraits of his ancestors as he continued to descend the stairs— all fast asleep in their frames. As he came to the last of the stairs, one of the portraits stirred.

“Regulus? Again? You should be asleep. These walks are not only tedious, but they are also ruining my sleep,” said Phineas Nigellus.

“I am sorry, great-great-grandfather Phineas,” Regulus said, twisting a silver ring on his finger bearing the Slytherin house crest. “I was just—”

“Nevermind, nevermind. I won’t have you disrupting my sleep again and again. Ask Kreacher to move my portrait into one of the rooms tomorrow morning. At least at Hogwarts I’m able to sleep despite students wandering about. I’ll never understand why you all brood in corners, festering in your—”

Regulus slowly backed away from the portrait of the old Headmaster, letting his sleepy grumbles become quieter and quieter as he made his way to the drawing room. Entering the room, he pulled out his wand and muttered a hushed _'lumos'_  to give him some light. The tip of his wand illuminated with a bright blue light that bounced off the walls, but there was only one wall he was concerned with— the tapestry.

As a child, Regulus marveled at the Black family tree with awe and pride. It was always comforting to him to know how long his family had survived for— despite a few scorch marks here and there. He had always been well aware of what they meant— the childish naivety of the matter was quickly extinguished by Sirius, as well as Walburga and Orion— but he always let the cruel reality of the ugly markings slip away as he gazed on. He used to spend hours tracing every branch, and family member they were attached to, trying to discover the stories and secrets that lay hidden among every thread that connected them all— even the scorched ones. He never had to wonder what they did to become a stain on 'the noble and most ancient house of Black', for that was always made abundantly clear. He did, however, wonder why. Why would anyone disobey their family and the values they grew up with knowing that they would never be able to be reunited with their own flesh and blood?

As he got older, the tapestry became something to live up to. He had been constantly reminded that he was _‘the better son’_ as soon as Sirius made it aware that his loyalties lay outside of the family which only placed higher and higher expectations on Regulus. No longer were they children playing on opposite teams in the garden; Regulus and Sirius had drawn their sides the moment Sirius was placed into Gryffindor whether they liked it or not. Suddenly, Regulus had to become everything his parents wished for the both of them. There was no thought, no desire, no dreams, no hopes, nor wishes. There was only duty for the house of Black. He had to be better than any Black before him. He had to be the best, the brightest, the model example of what it meant to be a Black for every Black that was to come after him. _Toujour Pur_. Always Pure.

Sirius, always the headstrong, proud, selfish older brother leaving Regulus alone to carry on the dignity and values of their family name. How could he abandon his own blood? How could he leave his family, his rich history filled with the most powerful pureblooded leaders the wizarding world had ever seen for some sheet of fabric make up of horrible and odd patterns that look nothing alike?

But now, Regulus understood.

He had his doubts over the years ever since he had gotten his dark mark. Had he made the right choice? _‘Yes,’_ he would tell himself, trying to ignore the voice in his head saying, _‘You’re lying’_. Later, the voice died down to the point of dormancy as Voldemort grew in power. A better future was in sight. A future where the Black name would no longer be soiled with the ashes of those who were too weak to realize the power they held in their hands.

 _‘The Dark Lord will bring us out of hiding. He will show the world the power and greatness of purebloods. I will bring the name of Black to the glory it deserves,’_ he would think to himself. The Dark Lord had even noticed him— giving him the honor of having his own house elf carry out a mission for him, for the cause! _‘The Black family; so strong that even its house elf will live in glory.’_

How naive could he be?

But now that naive little boy was gone, and he knew what must be done. Regulus turned to go back to his room when he bumped his leg against the seat of the grand piano. The sudden pain was a surprise to him, but after he had recovered, a small and grim chuckle bubbled out of him. Such a short and temporary pain felt like a childish prank in relation to what was ahead of him. He pressed his wandless hand against the smile that tugged across his face. After a moment, Regulus sighed and sat down on the bench that was worn with years of usage and cast a silencing spell on the room. “Muffliato,” he whispered tenderly in the darkness.

With his wand still lit, he set it down onto the dark wood of the grand piano and his arms and legs reflexively took their respective positions hovering above the keys and pedals. Regulus relaxed and closed his eyes letting his fingers rest onto the black and white keys as the corner of his mouth twitched upwards into a smirk.

His hands gently glided over the keys as music began to fill the air that only he could have access to. This moment was his alone. There was no noble Black name to honor, an older brother to worry about, a family legacy to protect, or a locket to plague him that sat with a note firmly enclosed inside of its grasp sealing a fate he knew was destined for him. That was all for tomorrow. In this moment, Regulus Arcturus Black gave his final performance before the final show tomorrow night— a moment he selfishly stole for himself after a lifetime of doing things for the good of his family.

Tomorrow held what was to be his final act of kindness, his final act of devotion, to them all: Sirius, mother, father, Kreacher, and the Chosen One.

But in the darkness at 12 Grimmauld Place, this song was his alone. He poured his pain, fear and sorrow into each and every note. Every time sadness had claimed a key, a note filled with the boundless compassion he held for his family battled it off until there was nothing but kindness and courage left inside of him. His battle was over as the moon set in the dimly lit sky. As the first few rays of sunlight pierced through the thick curtains of the drawing room, the war had officially begun.

After the last note had been plucked out of the piano, Regulus stood from the bench, undid the silencing spell, and whispered a quick ‘ _nox_ ’ to his wand. The silent room welcomed the sounds of life outside of the home from the small chirping of birds waking from their slumber, to the sounds of muggles walking around and on their way to continue their daily routine of life. Each and every one of them were ignorant to the boy who would sacrifice his life to save them all before the child soon to be known as the Chosen One was brought into the world. Taking one last look at the tapestry, he noticed that the sun’s beams had laid across his and Sirius’s names on the Black family tapestry as well as illuminating the Black family crest in the center of the ancient family.

If the music had given him the closure he needed to proceed to his death, the light had given him the courage he need to go through it all. There was nothing left to do. He was ready. The fear and nervousness had all been expelled out of him— hopefully until he had completed his mission. Hope. That was this was all for. Everything he did from this moment on will be in the hopes that he will have helped the savior of worlds, both wizard and Muggle, in defeating the Dark Lord on even ground.

Nothing in his eighteen years of life could have predicted this moment, and yet he realized that there was no other way for it to have ended. He never wanted power, fame, fortune, infamy or whatever else there could have been for him. He only ever cared about one thing: his family.

And Regulus was determined to fight for his until the bitter end.

**Author's Note:**

> remember that song i put at the beginning of the chapter?
> 
> that's also the song i imagine regulus is playing at the end. 
> 
> autumn is a time of change as well as the divide between life and death. on the one hand you have the harvest filled with its plentiful crop, and on the other you have the death of all those plants and living things until the next year.
> 
> autumn comes as a transition from the lively and youthful time of summer into the bleak, cold, deadly winter which again mirrors the time where regulus is at. he's right at the threshold between life and death and he knows death is coming as he remembers the summers of his youth.
> 
> so there's something to mull over :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [an autumn storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12209211) by [syari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/syari/pseuds/syari)




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